Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oh, no.

He’s going to cry.

He said he wouldn’t, even if they won, and now they’ve been beaten and it’s all over and he’s dropping into a chair and the State Championship loss is sinking in and —

Fuck. Dustin’s crying.

Steve whips a towel off the rack and covers his sweaty hair, hoping the cameras aren’t focused on him as the emotion cuts off his air and his face scrunches and tears burn in his eyes and —

Billy’s elbow bumps him as the older boy leans forward and buries his face in both massive hands. He’s crying too. All six foot two eyes of blue of him.

Steve clenches his jaw and fights it with everything he has. Last year’s champs cannot be seen bawling like babies.

They’ve probably only got a minute before the announcer orders them back on the court to shake hands with the winners. Sneers and euphoria that isn’t his fill his head, and he thinks about Coach down on his knees during the final three minutes as their ten-point lead fell to eight, and then four, and then tied. And then —

Why is he even like this? It’s Billy who’s important. Billy who’s in his final year and hoping to have two trophies under his belt before he trips off to college. Steve’s already got a scholarship and a place at the Main U to play baseball. He still has one year of high school left with everything lined up for life afterward. He shouldn’t be sobbing into a towel.

Steve doesn’t even like basketball; his father’s the one who made him play. It’s always always been baseball, the path Steve has chosen, much to his father’s disappointment. That might even be a reason he’d picked it.

(It is. He knows that.)

But feeling Billy’s shoulders shake beside him, and watching Dustin hugging Will’s neck like someone has died, and hearing Coach clap his hands and valiantly shout ‘Proud of you, boys!’ even though Steve missed three free throws and just as many threes and Billy had four fouls and had to pull back to avoid being benched and Lucas was the only one who played like it was just any other game? 

The agony of those thoughts has him ripped open with guilt.

A hand rests on his shoulder; it’s the assistant coach.

“Come on guys. Back up there.”

Billy huffs and sits straight, defiance ugly on his face. He’s not mad at the other team or his own teammates. He’s mad at himself, that he couldn’t carry the game on his shoulders like everyone expected him to.

Steve stands and files onto the court with the rest of the team, sophomores first,  then juniors, and finally, the main players. Billy is last, of course, as captain, and Steve next as his co-. They clear their throats and avoid looking at the heartbroken fans, focused on the bastards that beat them.

They’ve played each other before this, at last year’s tournament, and beat them soundly. It’s a school about the same size as theirs in a much more rural location. Billy and Jonathan were the ones who called them ‘Hicks’ and went on about how everyone is inbred, sisters fucking brothers and creating mutant freak offspring. But when it’s come down to it, they are faster, with better ball handling, and that one kid nailed each and every one of his three pointers.

This kid has a nickname that’s not exactly secret. Steve’s whole school uses it, has used it since last year. Word spread quickly and the opposition began to claim it as their own. This year, they're loud and proud about the fantastic player that is ‘Trailer Park Eddie.’

Steve sees this Mutant Freak, aka TP Eddie, at the end of the line since he’s their team’s captain. The same height, he's a year older, with a slighter build and better hair. His impossible natural curls are tight and unruly, dripping wet against the sharp bones of his hollow cheeks. He’s smiling, big brown eyes shining with excitement. Steve doesn’t know whether he wants to punch him or kiss him stupid.

TP Eddie looks over the tops of other players' heads and catches Steve watching him. The joy in his features stalls, his beatific smile falls, and for a confusing moment, he looks — sorry.

It passes, of course, because apparently, this guy has the ability to school his face, and later, he’ll be doing an interview with the television station. He had a great go of it; they’ll no doubt be choosing him for Player of the Game and asking him all about his future in basketball. Steve feels simultaneously sick to his stomach and terrified that he’s going to have to shake this boy’s hand.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the next person in line as he grins and murmurs the traditional ‘good game’ before moving on. Between players’ heads and shoulders, he shoots a look at Steve, and something like a frown touches his brows, but only for a split second before he moves on to the next. Steve’s mouth has gone dry by the time they’re close.

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie says, his voice low and deep. The intensity of his gaze is enough to drive Steve to anxiety. He hadn’t looked at any of the other guys like that.

Before Steve can say anything, before he can attempt to squeeze the life out of the guy’s hand to show how strong he still is, even after a devastating loss after which he cried, Eddie scares the shit out of him by grabbing Steve by the back of the neck. He pulls him into a sweaty one-armed hug, bony chin bumping the side of Steve’s cheek. Into Steve’s ear, he hisses something that isn’t even close to ‘good game.’

“You were amazing out there,” he says, wrapping the other arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Nearly had us.”

It’s a lie, and they both know it. But the sincerity in the confusing comment is breathtaking. Steve had figured Eddie for a bully, like Billy, the kind to cut one down when at one’s worst. And yet, here’s that worst point, and he’s being nice?

Steve isn’t sure what to do with his hands, but he can’t stand there stiff as a statue. The game announcers will tell the viewing crowd that Steve 'The Hair' Harrington is being a Grade-A-Dick, and that won’t be good for the team. 

So, he raises an arm and slaps Eddie’s back, and gets an affectionate little shake for it. And when Eddie steps back to look properly at him, Steve swears he sees the apologetic plea of a shelter puppy gazing out.

“Thanks,” Steve gruffs, hating his voice for sounding so weak. He nods and tries to smile and moves on to accept handshakes from the other team’s coaches. There’s a nervous warmth in his belly that wasn’t there before, and he should be horrified by it. He most definitely should not have butterflies after hearing encouraging condolences from an arch-rival. No matter how cute the guy is.

It’s — well, it’s weird.

Once through the train, Steve’s team returns to the three-point line to prepare to accept their second-place medals. Eddie’s team does the same, facing the center and sharing high fives with each other again. Then they all bunch up in a group circle, with the coaches standing watching, arms folded with beaming pride. Someone counts off, and they break from the huddle. And Eddie does that thing he does.

It’s ridiculous, really. A stupid superstitious habit he’s made into his calling card. He plays air guitar, hips swaying back and forth like none should ever do in a public place such as this. And then the idiot makes horns with his fingers and hangs his super long tongue in the air. Like he’s some kind of demon.

It’s their school’s thing; they are the Devils, after all. But the fact that Eddie does it so well and looks great as he makes a fool of himself is really, really unfair.

Steve’s team is introduced first, each one receiving a medal on a sash that is slipped around their necks by the head of the high school athletics league. Most members of the other team across the court ignore them, talking animatedly and laughing, not exactly disrespectful, but seeming that way all the same. Most, that is, except for Eddie.

Eddie claps for all of them as they walk forward for their runner-up reward. He’s like the ideal model of sportsmanship, all enthusiasm and goodwill, and god, Steve hates him!

He applauds the hardest as Steve approaches center court and accepts his medal, nodding and smiling and hot as hell. Steve doesn’t mean to hold the guy’s eye contact as he spins to return to the line. He’s just so damn captivating, oozing with confidence and sexy masculinity.

As Steve walks back, he thinks about all that masculinity. The long underarm hair that was in Steve’s face countless times as they guarded each other. The splayed-wide hand on his chest in response to Steve’s attempts to shake him loose. That same hand on his lower back in an attempt to keep him inside protective boundaries. And those hips pressed against his from behind as they danced across the floor.

Shit. Steve should not be thinking about how similar to fucking that playing basketball can be.

It hadn’t been all hands and hips and thighs and armpits. Now that Steve thinks back, it was more than that. Eddie was talkative, his loud mouth a constant engine running as they played. Steve had figured it was a distraction technique; a way to throw him off his stride. He’d been so in the zone, so focused on keeping his head in the game, Steve hadn’t recognized until now how very flirty Eddie had been.

Like that second play at the beginning of the game where Steve went down hard defending Eddie against cutting into a pocket. And Eddie bent over him and offered a hand. And Steve hadn’t thought anything about it when Eddie said, ‘Get outta my brain, Harrington. It’s like we were made for each other.’

Then there was the second foul Billy took reaching around Steve and over Eddie to block a shot, only he went too far and got called on his overzealous bullshit. Eddie had elbowed Steve as he walked to the free throw line and teased, ‘I thought you were my partner, not him.’

And now, as Steve watches the officials cut the net and drape it over Eddie’s neck, as Eddie pushes the curls off his face and into a ponytail with a rubber band from his wrist, a shiver runs down his spine as Eddie salutes him and only him before whooping along with his team as their photo is taken.

Steve stands by Billy as he gives an interview; for support, he tells himself, and not so he can get Eddie to look at him like that again. When Eddie does, Steve stares back without fear, wondering what it would take to make the guy back down. He finds he would very much like to have a rematch, just the two of them.

Just the two of them.

Steve follows his teammates into the locker room where parents wait outside. He forgoes the shower, just like all the rest, figuring he can take one at the hotel. Instead, he finds Dustin and crushes him into a hug.

“It’s OK,” he reassures, feeling responsible as fuck. “We’ve got next year. We’ve got next year.”

"I know. It still sucks!"

Dustin blubbers like a baby when his mom shows up, then rushes to her arms where she’s crying too. Steve leaves them to it, passing the rest of their supporters and heading for the bus outside. He doesn’t have anyone there to cheer him on, and he doesn’t have anyone to be disappointed either.

Not yet, at least. His mom and dad will find out. But they couldn’t make the trip to the state capitol to watch the game. Work was much more important in their books.

It’s mostly quiet outside, and the spring air feels cool on his still-heated skin. Now that the season is over, he’s dying for a smoke, wishing he could have one long, burning drag to singe the insides of his overworked lungs. It hadn’t mattered, quitting so he could catch his breath to play sports. His improved lung capacity was nothing when he couldn’t sink the fucking ball.

But this isn’t the time or place. There are too many people watching, too many rule followers. Sure, it’s too late to get kicked off the basketball team, but he can’t risk baseball.

Shuffling feet approach from the side, and Steve shoves both hands into his shorts’ pockets. It’s too early to get on the bus, but he knows he can’t handle all that which is going on inside. If he plays it right, turns toward the brick wall and keeps his head down, whoever it is will just walk right past and not notice him.

He has no such luck.

“Steve?”

That voice. That mother fucking voice. Why has it followed him where he least expected it?

Eddie is elated to see Steve, with a smile that spreads from ear to ear. He struts up real close, grins at Steve and peers out of dark brown cow eyes. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever fucking seen, and later on, he’ll blame the stabbing pain of defeat for what he does next.

Steve reaches out and grabs Eddie by the jersey, crumpling it in his fist and pulling the fabric practically off the guy’s shoulders to make him come closer. There’s the tiniest moment of shock, of confusion and surprise, before Eddie Munson looks directly at Steve’s mouth and licks those incredible lips.

Eddie’s brown eyes lift and fall and lift again, until they're locked in with Steve's. Something like his own shot of energy pulses, and Eddie snatches Steve’s jersey, too. They stand there, a perfect mirror of the other, teetering on the edge of something that shouldn’t even be there.

They hover, almost touching, Steve panting in gasps and Eddie soon joining him. A rush of adrenaline surges through Steve’s chest as he considers making good on handing out a black eye. He acts on the other desire instead.

Steve, mind whirring and heart galloping, presses forward and kisses Eddie.

Chapter Text

It might as well have been a punch for all the energy Steve puts into it and the sound the other boy makes as the air leaves his lungs. Steve misses Eddie’s lips completely, winds up mouthing his long chin above that adorable dimple. He’s kissed guys horribly in dark rooms without any idea of the location of body parts other than his own dick. But failing at this one feels like just another loss in his attempts at success.

Steve regroups and slides his mouth upward, dragging across faint stubble and slick sweat until he finds what he’s looking for. And as he kisses Eddie properly now, the other boy doesn’t kiss back. He just stands there like a wall of rock, unmoving.

Fuck. Steve’s read it all wrong. 

He pulls back, wincing, trying to get a safe enough distance away so Eddie doesn’t break his nose when he socks him. But the blow doesn’t come, and the guy doesn’t let Steve go. Instead, he’s fucking grinning with this look in his eye that is dangerously close to desire.

“Shoulda figured you’d be a terrible kisser by the accuracy of your throws,” he says, low and teasing. It stops Steve’s heart for a moment until brain catches up with flight response, and he realizes he’s not being denied.

“Let me show you how a pro does it,” Eddie chuckles. Both large palms reach out to cup Steve’s face, and those incredible eyes focus on Steve’s mouth, and the rate at which his opponent closes in feels like punishment instead of reward.

When Eddie’s lips make contact, they’re soft and gentle, controlled and direct and fuck — Steve isn’t going to survive this. He hadn’t thought farther than a quick and dirty makeout session, maybe a frantic grind, jockstrap to jockstrap. He isn’t prepared for the direction this is taking; he isn’t prepared to be treated kindly.

Steve forgets to return the kiss because, honestly, he’s out of his league. Eddie is taking him apart, leaning forward open-mouthed and with practiced purpose and Steve is melting too fast to keep up.

It must be obvious because Eddie laughs and leans back to look at Steve. His expression is confident and amused, maybe a little bit fond. Meanwhile, Steve’s nose and cheeks and lips are numb and he couldn’t speak even if he was being tortured and forced to.

Shouts sound from down the street, and Eddie’s warm eyes slide in their direction.

“Let’s go,” he rasps, clutching Steve by the front of his jersey again. “This way.”

Alarms go off in Steve’s head and he remembers his mother’s lecture about going off with strangers. But, ew, thinking of his parent at a time like this is ruining the vibe. Besides, Eddie’s not a stranger. He’s a rival. He’s not going to kill him. Beat him up, maybe. Wreck his mouth, probably. Break his heart? 

Hm.

Steve follows regardless as Eddie releases his jersey and runs down the sidewalk and across the drive, turning at the corner of a building and taking off away from the Sports Center.

Eddie screeches to a halt halfway down the block and disappears in a dark doorway. A strong hand reaches out and pulls Steve into the space where he slams into Eddie with so much force they crash into the brick wall that appears to be the back door to a parking garage.

Before Steve can think about how many people have done the same thing in this hideyhole, how many others slept or pissed or puked in front of this very door, Eddie has him by the face and is kissing him harder, faster, reckless.

“Mm,” Steve groans without meaning to. It’s not his fault, though. How’s he supposed to keep it together when Eddie’s large hand is palming his ass over his shorts, and Eddie’s long tongue is in his mouth where it pushes his own back and away, and Eddie has Steve crushed against his hard, hot body, smelling salty and sour and a little bit gross?

Answer? He’s not.

Another hand slips under the elastic at the back of Steve’s shorts, exploring fingers pulling one cheek to the side, stretching the skin over his hole tight so that his cock twitches in response. Eddie’s thumb rides his crack until the nail brushes, hard and shocking, over that sensitive spot where the sun don’t shine, and fuck — !

“Fuck,” Steve whispers, stupid-like, as he wrenches his mouth away to gasp for breath. His lungs are working as hard as a sprint up the court, heart pounding just the same.

“Didn’t figure you for a dirty mouth,” Eddie hums as both hands grip tightly each ass cheek, bare skin on bare skin and so good even Steve’s balls seem rigid, tucked close to his body.

“Uh-huh,” is all he manages, because Eddie’s a fast mover, and he jerks hard at Steve’s elastic until his shorts cling to the crease beneath his buttocks.

The stench of wet polyester and leaked fluids hit Steve’s nose like a slap to the face. He wants to recoil, but there’s something so very disgusting about it, he swallows hard and tries not to pass out.

Eddie dives back in for another kiss, rotating them until Steve’s back is against the brick. Another slam there steals his breath, to which a whimper forces its way out, weak with want.

Steve’s never wanted anyone as badly as he wants Eddie.

His own hands flail without purpose, stroking at Eddie’s shoulders, onto his back, sliding down the length of muscular forearms where he’s breaking Steve nearly in two. He wonders if Eddie’s fucked a guy before, and that’s why he seems to know exactly how to get Steve’s blood racing. Racing so rapidly that he’s dizzy and lightheaded and aching to have his dick touched.

Steve does it for Eddie, yanks a hand from his ass and shoves it down the front instead. The guy’s eyebrows lift and he practically growls.

Capable fingers seek out the heat of him, finding and squeezing and sending a jolt of pleasure through his gut. Eddie Munson, the kid he’s been hating and subconsciously wanting for a year now has a chokehold around the head of his cock with magical fingers.

“Oh,” Eddie groans as he leans into it, taking more of Steve in that great big palm. He’s squeezing and twisting, dry and painful. “Jeezus you’re big.” The guy sounds amazed, surprised, like he didn’t expect to find what he has.

And, damn, he’s good with his hand, with his hands. Why wouldn’t he be? Those fingers are practically like claws, wrapped almost completely around a ball when he goes in to score. Steve wants that touch over every square inch of his body. Even if he has to beg.

Panting against the side of the guy’s cheek, feeling so much he’s about to burst, Steve also wants to touch Eddie. He decides and fumbles to lift Eddie’s jersey, tangling in it and huffing in frustration.

Eddie laughs again and grips Steve more firmly. It’s so perfect that he gives up the scramble to get inside Eddie’s shorts, goes simultaneously limp and stiff against the other boy’s chest. He gets his fingers into that curly hair, finally, and holds on for dear fucking life.

“I’m gonna come,” he moans into another sloppy kiss. A shudder shakes Eddie’s shoulders. He widens his stance, tugs Steve painfully close, and dips a finger inside his hole.

Eddie takes his mouth fiercely then and jacks him hard and fast. It hurts, and it’s amazing, and Steve can’t understand why it feels so good, sudden and unplanned and rough as it is. But he doesn’t fight the response his body gives as he closes his eyes tight and loses whatever control he pretended he ever had. And he ejaculates so hard his throat burns with it.

“Shhh,’ Eddie chuckles, kissing him through it, trying to stop the noise that’s spewing from Steve’s mouth. It’s joyful and warm, his arm strong around Steve’s back as it keeps him from collapsing on useless legs. 

Embarrassment floods his brain as Steve returns to most of his senses, and he immediately accepts how badly fucked up this is. What’s he supposed to do now with this boy who lives hundreds of miles away, with whom he hasn’t even talked to other than friendly banter on the court? How’s he going to face tomorrow knowing not only has he lost the State Championship, but he’s fucking come all over another guy in a seedy back alley in the dark?

It doesn’t seem to bother Eddie, though. He tucks Steve's ass and dick into his shorts, then grabs the back of Steve’s neck for a deep, deep kiss. Eddie’s hard, because how could he not be, but he isn’t hurried to match Steve’s climax. Something else is on the guy’s mind.

“Please,” Eddie whispers into the kiss, eyes wet and actually pleading. “Please tell me you’re eighteen. Please.”

Steve’s stomach drops to the pavement under his feet, and he seizes up, fists clenched where he hangs off Eddie’s shoulders in desperation.

“I’m almost twenty,” Eddie explains, and he’s panting something fierce. His words break in strange places as he gasps to catch his breath. “Held back — twice when I was in — Gonna — grad — uate this year for sure. But —“

He trails off, and Steve understands what it took to share something like that. Steve tangles all ten fingers in Eddie’s hair, looks away, and lies.

“Yeah. Yeah. Eighteen.”

No wonder Eddie is so good with a cock.

What Eddie does next is so tender it rips Steve’s heart out and throws it against the wall.

The guy with the golden touch closes his eyes and leans forward until his forehead rests against Steve’s, and he exhales with such relief that Steve will never, ever recover.

He’s going straight to hell.

They remain that way for some time as the city sounds grow louder around them, and the cool air prickles Steve’s exposed skin. He makes a sideways move with his elbow, but Eddie shakes his head and smooths Steve’s jersey over his back. He wipes the hand he used to stroke Steve off on the front of his own jersey, then smiles bashfully out of gentle, baleful eyes.

He pats Steve’s second-place medal.

“Gimme your phone.”

Steve blinks for a moment, then remembers he’s supposed to do something. “I — I don’t have it.”

Another laugh, another kind look. “OK. Here’s mine.” Eddie digs a phone out of one pocket, pushing it into Steve’s chest so he’s forced to take it. “Punch in your number.”

Hesitation must be what makes Eddie pull back. “Only if you want —“

Steve is so stupid. “I want to.”

He takes the phone in trembling fingers, sliding open the home screen. Finding no passcode, he notes the heavy metal guitar that graces the background and almost asks about it before he remembers.

Right. Phone number.

Steve begins a text message to himself and sends it on its way.

Back on the bus, tucked deep in his bag, a tone sounds and seals some kind of awkward, taboo fate.

Smiling shyly, Eddie kisses Steve one more time before throwing his head back and groaning. “Oh, I gotta go. If my coach finds out I ditched the reporters to find some hottie with a perfect ass —?”

Well, at least they agree on one thing; Steve does have a great ass.

And then, Eddie just up and leaves. Waves an adorable goodbye and jogs back up the street, practically kicking up his heels with glee. It makes sense, Steve supposes; he has just won a tournament with one of the best games of his life, and he’s gotten his hands on a ‘hottie with a perfect ass.’ And as far as Steve can tell, the guy deserves it. All of it.

Dammit.

Steve’s fallen for a nice guy.

(Fallen, past tense, not present or future.)

Lucas finds him on the street by their coach bus and gives him a hard glare. “Where the hell did you run off to? Billy was looking for you!”

The way he says it tells Steve everything he needs to know. Billy was pissed and took it out on everyone else because Steve wasn’t around to absorb the brunt of it, Hargrove’s own personal punching bag, even if it is only with harsh words. Steve’s used to it by now; they’ve been playing basketball together since the second grade, and Billy’s always been a bully.

His friend hands over Steve’s duffle, which is a nice thing to do. Steve thanks him and slumps up the bus steps and into his seat. He doesn’t make eye contact with Billy as he passes him. He’s stupid, but not that stupid. 

Steve doesn’t dig for his phone. He doesn’t want to acknowledge that whole — thing — before he gets a chance to think. They have a long, long ride home, and he plans on spending most of it pretending to be asleep and not worrying about what might happen if he gets caught with an older guy. A much older guy.

The bus is quiet the entire way. It seems he’s not the only one who’s pretending to sleep. The coaches talk quietly with the parent chaperones and Dustin gets out of his seat four times to use the bathroom at the back. Steve nearly catches his arm the last time to pull him into the seat next and pour all his sorrows onto the kid’s shoulders.  Dustin doesn’t judge him. Dustin knows he likes girls and guys. Dustin knows and doesn’t care and tells him his stupid conspiracy theories anyway and is great at keeping secrets.

Eventually, Steve does look for his phone, when he’s sure no one is watching. He stares at the text message for a long, long time, considering adding it to his contacts before swiping it out of the way.

He slips in his earbuds and searches up the news footage of the game, the interviews afterward, and the guy named Eddie Munson, who he’s maybe just a little bit in love with.

Just a little bit.

Eddie had gone back for the interviews, because he’s there, smiling like an angel with a huge discolored splotch on his jersey; the spunk that he so generously coaxed from Steve’s cock. He doesn’t even seem to care, standing with hands on hips and the stain right there, front and center, for everyone to see. Like he’s proud of it, like it’s some sort of trophy. A trophy he’s just as excited about as the fucking first place his team took away from Steve’s team.

Steve searches up and reads article after article about the phenomenon that is Eddie Munson. Finds out he was adopted (taken away from abusive parents) at a young age by an uncle who struggled with poverty, that he missed a few years of school to stay home to take care of his aunt as she battled cancer. How he returned once she passed because she made him promise he would. 

He finds other stories, too. The ones that are not so complementary. The ones that say how unfair it is for Eddie to be playing on a high school team when he’s physically two (almost two) years older than his senior counterparts. The ones that accuse him of selling weed to younger students, that suggest he has a second secret life of crime. These kinds of articles are few and far between, but they’ve created enough doubt in Eddie’s school that he had to find a lawyer to fight for his right to play ball.

And then? Then it turns out the guy doesn’t even want to play basketball after high school!

“No,” Eddie laughs at a particularly bouncy blonde reporter. “Basketball isn’t for me. Not anymore.”

The blonde giggles at him, tosses her hair and throws out her chest. “Not anymore? What does that mean?”

And Eddie, sweet guy that he is, calls her ma’am and quashes her flirting then and there. “I’m gonna help my uncle in his garage. Be a mechanic just like him.”

Steve closes his phone and allows his head to fall back against the bus seat and knows, knows, Eddie is too good for him.

His parents are asleep when he gets home at three a.m. He had to drive the Bimmer from the school half-asleep and gnawing on his cheek. Now that he’s in his own bed, smelling foul and heartsore, he’s bitten a hole through it and can’t stop worrying at it. He's in so, so much trouble.

He doesn’t sleep much. There’s a Welcome Home party for them at the town hall at noon, and he wakes to his mom’s quiet knocking at eleven-thirty. He races through the shower and barely has time to blow dry his hair before he’s falling into the backseat of his dad’s car and they’re hurrying down the street with minutes to spare.

Steve’s parents are the kind to show up in public when it matters, and this kind of event where other parents are sure to be there is right up their alley. They smile and pat backs, make artificial sympathetic noises, and Steve ditches them the first chance he gets.

Billy finds him outside behind the hall as Steve looks over the dry grasses of an early spring thaw. He has no qualms about smoking. What does he care? His career is over and he’s got nothing to lose, except that full-ride scholarship he’d been hoping for after the tournament.

“Hey, Billy,” Steve tries, wondering when would be a good time to remind him that there are plenty of other colleges scrambling to get Billy to play for them. Sure, it’s not his first choice, but it would be foolish not to consider other options. Especially since the guy can’t wait to get the hell out of town.

“Where’d you go last night, huh?” Billy asks, exhaling a plume of smoke out one side of his frowning mouth. “We shoulda stayed together as a team. Coach was pretty clear about that.”

It’s to be a guilt trip then, is it? Steve is well versed in those; it’s a tactic his parents use all the time, and he’s practically immune.

Practically.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just stares at his feet and realizes he forgot to do up the laces.

“Someone said they saw you hanging with that Trailer Park dude. You fraternizing with the enemy?”

The ice in Steve’s veins blocks his throat enough that even a smart answer won’t make its way through. Instead, Steve shakes his head and tallies up yet another lie he’s sitting on.

Billy grunts and pushes the cigarette out with his toe. “Would be a shame for your parents to find you like guys. Wouldn’t it.”

It’s not a question. It’s a threat. A threat Steve believes Billy would absolutely act on, especially now, in the state of mind that he’s in.

“How are you and Nancy doing?”

Billy is very aware that he and Nancy broke up last summer. Steve doesn’t answer. Again.

“She’s sleeping her way through the team, did you know?” he says, sneering at the way Steve’s head jerks to look up at him. “Yeah. Think I’ll take a turn with her. Whatya think?”

Steve finds his voice. “You stay away from her.”

But Billy just laughs, turns on his heel and knows he’s got Steve by the balls. “Pull your head out of your ass and maybe I’ll leave her be.”

He walks around the side of the building with a nasty grin on his stupid, handsome face.

Fuck. How had Billy found out about Eddie?

Fuming, wracking his brain on how he can get Nancy away from her parents at this thing, alone to warn her about Hargrove, Steve shoves both hands in his pockets.

He means to follow Billy around the corner, but is stopped in his tracks by a boy his height. His dark curly hair is smoothly brushed into a bun at the base of his neck, and his big brown eyes are wide with surprise as they collide. Steve throws up both hands to prevent bonking foreheads, and they land on the firm, familiar lean shoulders he found support on just last night.

“Eddie!” Steve blurts, stomach suddenly lodged in his throat. “What are you doing here?”

Eddie Munson grins and catches both Steve’s wrists in those large hands.

“I came to offer support. Show everyone I’m not a bad person.”

Chapter Text

Shit. Eddie looks good.

He's all spiffed up. Black dress pants, short-sleeved black button-down, peek of white tank top, and a hint of tattoo underneath. His face and neck are cleanly shaven, and he smells amazing. For a moment, Steve forgets why he's in such a hurry to follow Billy in the first place because he wants to suck on Eddie's Adam's apple.

"Billy!" he says, suddenly frantic. "Oh, fuck. Did he see you?"

Eddie's smirk is fucking divine. The proud set of his shoulders screams, 'Don't fuck with me.'

"Oh! Yeah! We talked for like ten minutes or so. He's super cool!"

Oh. No.

"Billy is a dick," Steve blurts and wrenches his hands away. Eddie's face falls and his eyebrows melt together, and that scares Steve so he clutches a fistful of the guy's nice shirt because Steve is fucking this up worse than ever.

Luckily, he's rescued by a chaotic lesbian who comes flying around the corner and nearly plows into both boys.

Robin shuffles backward with wide eyes, mouth opened and prepared to scold Steve with some affectionately degrading name, like always. Instead, her gaze flits between Eddie and Steve and the hand Steve has on him and the forward suggestion of their bodies, and she says the most ridiculous thing imaginable.

"Whoa. My Gaydar is off the charts here."

Steve slams his eyes shut and groans.

Eddie laughs. "What?!"

"Robin," Steve begs. She's frowning when he opens his eyes. As if she knows something. "Do you have to?"

This ruffles her feathers. "I'm not afraid of who I am, Harrington. Just because you can't accept clear biological evidence doesn't mean we all have to refute our —"

Eddie cuts in. "Hey! It's all good. Nobody is refuting anything here!"

That shuts Robin up. She takes a good, hard look at Eddie, who doesn't cower like most people do when the girl glares at them, but smiles openly. There is an awkward moment of silence where Steve wants to throw himself in the pond out back rather than tell Robs what they got up to last night. But then Eddie offers up a hand and —

"I'm Eddie Munson. Nice to meet you . . . "

"Robin," his best friend answers, gripping Eddie's hand so hard it looks as if it hurts. "You're that guy they call Trailer Park Eddie. I'm sorry about that."

Eddie keeps smiling and shakes his head. Strands of hair that escape his rubber band blow across his face. "Nah. I own that name now. It's not the worst thing I've been called. Trust me."

Robin and Eddie share a knowing look, and Steve has no idea what's happening.

Then he remembers. "Billy!"

Robin turns her head dramatically, as if to say, 'Excuse me, I'm speaking here!'

Steve rolls his eyes. "He knows!"

She's a smart girl; she gets it right away.

"Oh, no! And with you making those big dumb dorky doe eyes at Eddie —"

Eddie laughs again, but Steve doesn't look at him. There are more important things stealing his attention at the moment.

"He's gonna tell everyone!" Robin finishes.

Steve reaches for her forearm and squeezes. "He's gonna tell Nancy."

Robin gasps and grabs Steve's face in both hands. She smooshes his cheeks and shakes him. "She's gonna tell —!"

"Mm-hm."

Thumbs press painfully into his gums as she pushes him away. "Let me take care of it."

Eddie laughs yet again. "What's going on?"

"You got a vehicle?" Steve asks as Robin starts digging in his shirt pocket. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"Where's your damn medal, dumbass?"

She gets her claws into his chest and he flinches, hard. "My mom's got it, you animal! What the hell for?"

Robin spins on her heel and waves him away. "Leave it to me. Head down the trails. I'll meet you at the school in like twenty minutes and you can make a getaway."

"Here!" Eddie says before she disappears completely. He tosses her a ring of keys that she catches one-handed. "Chevy Van. You can't miss it."

Robin shoots Eddie a stunning smile and runs off.

Steve wastes no time in grabbing Eddie by the elbow and hauling him down the hill to the baseball field out back. They hurry past the dugouts and along the fence, heading for the school forest and the trails that lead to the school in the next lot.

They're both puffing by the time Steve is sure they're far enough inside the trees to be seen. He bends over with hands on knees and finally gets a good look at Eddie.

God damn, it's really not fair how he's completely dry while Steve is sweating up a storm.

"Are we running from the homophobes?" Eddie teases. And, yes, Steve gets why he thinks that. It's worse, though. Most of his classmates know and don't treat him differently. He is pretty popular with both camps and there's a high population of queer kids. They tend to stick together and aren't afraid to defend each other.

"Actually?" Steve swallows hard. He didn't think he'd be explaining this to Eddie Munson, of all people. "It's my parents. I'm not exactly out of the closet with them, yet."

"Oh!"

"Ya. And my parents really like my ex-girlfriend, Nancy. So they'll believe anything she says, and Billy knows he can use her to get me in trouble."

Eddie's face goes all sympathetic. "I can leave if you —"

Steve waves his hands. "No! You drove all this way to see me and I'd feel like —"

"What makes you think I drove here to see you?"

Well, shit.

But Eddie grins and sucks Steve into a bone-crushing hug, not caring about the wetness of Steve's shirt or the damp on his brow.

"I'm messing with you," Eddie says, giving away serious fuck-me vibes. He's got Steve against his chest, nose pressed into the side of Steve's face. It's simultaneously dizzying and electrifying.

When Eddie pulls back, it's to stare hungrily at Steve's mouth. "Tell me I can kiss you? I'm dying to kiss you. Didn't get to do it damn near enough last night."

Steve, stupid and speechless, grips more tightly onto Eddie's shoulders and nods.

And, god, it's as good as he remembers. Better, maybe. Softer and sweeter, with those big hands cupping his face. Like he's something special. Like he's loved.

A bang goes off behind them, and they startle apart. It appears someone is setting off firecrackers. The rapid, loud ones that scare animals and children alike. Cherry bombs.

Eddie laughs that joyous laugh and Steve soon joins him. They teeter against each other, shoulder to shoulder. Steve's heart crackles like the fireworks at the town hall.

"So we're running from your parents," Eddie surmises, and yeah, he's got that right. Billy can threaten all he wants about telling people Steve is bisexual. Doesn't bother him one bit. It's his dad who scares him more than anything.

Eddie's eyes in daylight are a soft, muddy brown, and this close it's possible to see dark green flecks in them. Just like the splash of freckles over his cheeks and nose. Steve can feel himself getting lost in them again.

"Can we get out of here?" he suggests, testing the bulge of both Eddie's biceps. Not only does Steve have a thing for eyes and dicks, but he's a sucker for upper arms. They're the perfect blend of hard strength and soft skin.

"So we are running," Eddie repeats, grinning, and Steve wants to bury his face in that smooth neck.

"I don't know. I guess not? I'm just not in the mood for drama."

"I get it. Let's keep going," and Eddie offers his hand.

All these romantic gestures mixed in with the hard and heavy petting is giving Steve very confusing thoughts.

The ground is decently dry, even though Steve's hands aren't, and Eddie walks a half-step behind. This is good because Steve doesn't know if he can stop himself from falling to his knees and sucking Eddie into his mouth if they make eye contact again.

Soon, the school looms through the trees, and they exit the trail right by the basketball courts. Before Steve can say or do anything, Eddie tugs him forward, trotting them onto the pavement where a forgotten ball rests.

"You and me?" Eddie says, seductive and full of double meaning. "Mano a mano?"

Steve takes in Eddie's long, lean legs and forgets they're supposed to be escaping, forgets that Robin is doing who knows what back at the town hall, forgets that she's supposed to meet them soon. All he can think of is being pressed against that hot, hard body and getting his hands on Eddie.

"Sure."

Eddie claps his hands together and undoes the top two buttons before shucking off his shirt.

"Oh, fuck."

He's wearing a shockingly white wife-beater, and the warm brown of his suntanned biceps covered in tattoos brings Steve's brain to a standstill.

"Come on!" Eddie bends over and scoops up the ball one-handed. "Here. Your ball."

The guy is eyeing Steve's shirt. Panic starts in his throat and works its way through his lungs. Steve doesn't dare take it off; he's hairier than Bigfoot and hasn't shaved since the playoffs started. It's a superstitious thing that he absolutely believes in.

Well. Believed in. Didn't exactly get him a championship. And he's not about to let it lose him a guy like Eddie.

Eddie pushes the ball into Steve's chest harder than necessary. It doesn't hurt, but it damn sure makes Steve wonder what Eddie's like in bed.

They play. It's fast. Eddie bumps into Steve with that lean chest, gets that massive hand on his backside, and breathes hot and heavy directly into Steve's face.

If Eddie means to distract Steve, he's successful. The ball gets stolen and Eddie blows past Steve for a layup, then hangs from the rim one-handed with his stupid tongue hanging out.

Like Michael.

Instead of making Steve retrieve the escaping ball, Eddie chases it down and lobs it sideways, over his head. It's a showoff move if Steve's ever seen one. And it shouldn't be as sexy as it is.

But it is.

Steve takes it back behind the line and gives himself a talking to. He knows every trick in the book to force himself to focus. But when he's staring down the front of Eddie's tank at the soft-looking happy trail beneath, he can't remember a single damn one.

Eddie charges him and gets right up in his face again. This time, Steve goes weak. He lets himself get pushed around. He lets Eddie yank his shirt from the back of his shorts. He lets Eddie get a hand beneath his belt and under his sweaty underwear. It's all sorts of foul, but it doesn't fucking matter. Steve chucks the ball into the woods and grips Eddie by the scruff of his neck for a sloppy, panting kiss.

"Ha ha!" Eddie laughs as he rips his mouth away. His cheeks have pinked beneath those freckles. "I take it you don't want to play?"

Steve gets both hands in Eddie's hair to mess it out of its ponytail. The dark mass falls on the boy's muscular shoulders. His eyebrows shoot skyward as does the corners of his mouth.

"Or maybe you do?"

Up to this point, Steve hasn't been sane enough to make words work. But Eddie grabs Steve's ass cheeks in those large palms and squeezes it out of him.

"I fucking want you," is what he says. It's rough and ragged and not very eloquent. Eddie's reaction is to smirk and yank Steve against his body.

"Yeah?"

Eddie bites the lobe of Steve's ear.

Fuck. "Yeah."

It happens quickly. Eddie jerks his hands away and crouches, then catches Steve behind both knees and lifts him. He walks the both of them off the court and into the grass, where he all but dumps Steve onto the ground and climbs over him.

Eddie shoves his hand under Steve's shirt and finds the rug of hair, and Steve goes stock still.

"Oh, my god," Eddie practically gasps as fingers tangle and grab and pull at Steve's chest hair, causing his stomach to clench with lust. "How are you everything I've always wanted?"

Dammit. There he goes again, saying things Steve wants—no, needs—to hear.

"Guh."

Eddie laughs again (he sure does that a lot). He's hot and heavy where he's pressing down on Steve, knees in the grass on either side of Steve's thighs. "Sure talk pretty when you're hot and bothered."

And the bastard grinds down with a giant, hard cock against the point of Steve's pelvis.

Steve groans. Eddie grins.

And they're interrupted, yet again.

"Told you!" comes a satisfied voice. "Dialed to eleven. A blind person could see the gay between you two."

Robin stands over them, looking down with that I-know-what-you-guys-were-doing face. She's swinging Steve's medal around an index finger. He hopes she smacks herself in the face with it.

Eddie pushes back to his haunches and pulls Steve by the hand, and they stand under the scrutiny of one very cocky, very smug, annoyingly observant and sneaky lesbian.

"That van of yours is interesting," Robin says as Eddie smooths down the front of Steve's shirt. He gives Steve's chest a pat and then adjusts his own dick outside his shorts.

It's very, very difficult to suppress another moan.

"Yeah, isn't it?" Eddie smirks, too. "Bought it last month. One owner before me."

Robin, eyes mischievous, lifts her chin and snorts. "Did it come with the shag carpet and mood lighting and the privacy curtains, or did you add those?"

"You like it?" Eddie beams. He crosses both arms over his chest and steps right next to Steve. "Vintage beauty like that deserves a little pampering."

Steve should pinch himself to make sure he's not dreaming. He can't believe Eddie is keeping up with Robin.

As if to prove a point, Robin holds out a key ring with a fuzzy lime-green basketball on the end of it. "If you're taking Steve for a ride in it, might I suggest Skull Rock?"

Eddie turns his head to look at Steve. Their upper arms are sweaty where they touch. "Skull Rock?"

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. Robin may as well tell Eddie that he gives as well as receives. He's regretting everything he's ever told her about his love life.

"Where everyone goes to lose their virginity," Robin explains. "Watch out for Police Chief Hopper, though. He likes to chase everyone out and call their parents."

And, just like that, Robin has managed to make things super awkward. She grins and grins and grins and swings that stupid medal around again.

This reminds Steve that she had covered for him back at the Hall.

"What did you tell Nancy?"

Eddie watches, curious, rapt, as Robin pulls out a lanyard from around her neck and clips the medal to it, then tucks it into her shirt. "I told her you gave me this thing instead of a ring to seal our relationship."

Steve's stomach loop-de-loops. "Why did you tell her that?"

He's angry, and it's evident in his accusing tone. They never agreed to be the other's Beard. In fact, they had discussed many, many times how Robin didn't want to hide behind anything.

She frowns at him like he's a naughty child who broke her favorite thing in the world. "Why do you think I told her that, numbnuts? Everyone already suspects we're dating. Now you're free to see Eddie without Billy or Nancy or your parents suspecting a thing. You should be thanking me, Harrington!"

Both hands are on her hips now and she's facing him down in that terrifying way. She's right, really. She's always right.

"You must be pretty good friends to do that for Steve," Eddie says, and he's looking like a lost puppy dog when he speaks. "Put yourself in a hard spot just for him?"

Robin throws up her hands. "Finally! Somebody who understands the sacrifices I make for this butthead." She steps forward and punches Steve's upper arm. "Steve is a big, dumb, animal, but he's pure-hearted and noble as fuck. Couldn't find a better partner. He's just not my type."

Steve feels his mouth drop open as he rubs at the bruise that'll mark his arm later. "Robs."

She lands him with a glare that would turn weaker men into stone. "Shut right up, you hear me? And get the hell out of here. I got it covered."

And Robin turns on her heel and proceeds onto the trail and into the woods.

The two boys stare at her as she marches off.

When they can no longer see her, Eddie shifts sideways to get Steve's attention. Damn. He has the most captivating eyes.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Man? Why does he have to be so chivalrous?

Eddie pushes his hands into his pockets and tries to make himself smaller. "I could go for a burger, or something. You got any suggestions for food?"

Steve thinks about Eddie grinding against him and knows he's moving way too fast. Food might just be the best idea to slow things down.

Eddie's van is a harem on wheels. The back compartment is exactly as Robin described. The shag rug is lime green and so are the curtains. Both benches have been removed so the area behind the bucket seats is wide open. Dangling icicle lights swing from the ceiling, twinkling soft yellow mood lighting. It's the most perfect Love Shack he's ever seen.

Food does not slow things down. They pull into the Big Boy, and Eddie leans over to squeeze Steve's knee. It's just a quick thing, but it leaves a burning reminder that Eddie actually wants to touch Steve. Even with his too-hairy chest and inexperience with guys.

Watching Eddie open wide for a large bite of burger — lips wrapped around the straw of his chocolate shake, elbows on the table and hunched over so they can talk about how neither one of them knows exactly what to do next — is absolutely maddening. The boy is so fucking real, honest and fearless and polite and charming —

As their knees brush under the table, and Eddie leaves them touching, Steve opens his mouth and steals a little bit of this incredible person's bravery.

"Since you drove such a long way, and since we seem to get along pretty well, would you want to stay at my house tonight?"

Eddie's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and those eyes find Steve's with disbelief.

"Won't your parents think —?"

"I don't care what they think," Steve says, a little louder than he meant to. He clenches both fists and takes a deep breath. "And we don't have to do anything. All that matters is you."

Chapter Text

The bravery and confidence and bad-assery that is Eddie turns timid as they roll up next to Steve's house.

"Park on the street," Steve says, pointing at the open curb next to the front lawn. "Then we don't have to move it later when mom and dad get home."

Eddie follows directions with a meekness to him that creates new doubt in Steve's mind. He waits until the van is off the street and parked before he speaks again.

"You sure you want to stay? I mean, if you've changed your mind, I won't be mad."

Eddie flashes Steve a scared look and ducks his head to be able to see out the windscreen up at the house. "Nah. It's not that. You just got a really nice house in a really nice neighborhood. Like — really nice. I mean, all those places we drove by have pools."

Steve feels embarrassed when he responds with, "So do we."

There's a moment where Steve thinks Eddie is going to back down as he stares, gobsmacked, out the window. But then he turns to face Steve, and it's this kicked puppy face that gets Steve's stomach all in knots.

"You sure you wanna be seen with a loser like me? If the neighbors find out …"

He trails off, and Steve thinks about those cruel news articles. The way narrow-minded people make up shit when they don't understand something.

And then he thinks about Eddie giving up school so he could help his dying aunt, and Steve knows he doesn't want to be seen with anyone else.

"You're not a loser, Eddie. You're a fighter, and you care, and it doesn't matter what anyone thinks." Steve's hands are sweating as he presses them into his knees. "And you're wrong, because you kicked my ass in basketball twice, now. If anyone's a loser, it's me."

The grin that Eddie brings out is stunning. It wrinkles his nose and it draws laugh lines around his eyes.

"Guess we'll have to agree to disagree."

Encouraged by this, Steve gets out of the van. Eddie follows, shoving both hands in his front pockets that kind of seems like a thing he does. He takes one out as Steve pulls on the screen door and holds it open, and the eye contact they make sends something weird swirling inside Steve's chest.

Eddie closes the front door, slips out of his shoes, and lifts his gaze to the chandelier in the foyer. Steve watches the long line of Eddie's throat and cracks a joke because he's feeling out of place, too.

"When I was eight, I shot that thing with the Nerf gun I got for my birthday. You should have heard the incredible noise it made as all those crystals shattered on the wooden floor."

This causes Eddie to snort, and Steve reaches for his elbow to pull him further into the house.

"Come on. Kitchen's this way."

The walk down the echoing hallway and come out on the other side, and Eddie makes a choked noise as they enter the large space.

"This room is bigger than my whole house!"

Steve opens the fridge and grabs two bottled root beers, pops the caps off using the tool under the counter.

"Yeah," he says as he hands a drink to Eddie. "It's kind of the same thing as my dad driving a car with a too-big engine over the speed limit. Gotta make up for the size of his tiny dick."

Eddie, who's taken a sip of his root beer, spits a fountain all over the island counter. He covers his mouth, horrified. Steve stands there and gapes at the pop dripping onto the floor and down the front of Eddie's nice shirt. It shouldn't be funny, because Eddie is probably embarrassed. But it is.

Steve laughs and tosses a hand towel at Eddie. He catches it one-handed and sheepishly wipes up the mess.

"Sorry —"

"Don't you dare apologize," Steve interrupts. There's something about the soft-looking hairs on Eddie's arms that makes him want to bite them. "That was my fault, and you just made me feel a hundred times less nervous about this."

Eddie looks up under long lashes as he dabs at the wet spots on his shirt. There's a sly smile on one corner of his mouth.

"You know for a fact your dad has a tiny dick?"

Steve's gaze falls to the crease at Eddie's crotch and his face goes hot. He doesn't know what the other boy's cock even looks like.

"Ugh, no! It's just — he's an asshole."

Smirking now, Eddie hands the towel back. "You're nervous?"

Shit. Steve can't even look at Eddie without his heart flying in loop-de-loops.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be? The hottest guy in the whole state is in my kitchen, looking cool even when he's spewing root beer and making me look like a bumbling idiot."

Eddie's face gets that look again. The one he makes right before kissing Steve.

"Again. Agree to disagree."

And just like that, the awkwardness is gone, and they're gooning at each other like a couple of lovesick fools.

"Wanna see the pool?"

Eddie lifts his bottle in acknowledgment and tips it back for a few gulping swallows. Steve watches with a dry mouth at the up and down motion of Eddie's Adam's apple.

God, he really does have a thing for guys, doesn't he?

"Lead the way," Eddie burps, drawing it out into this obscene, long thing. Steve rolls his eyes and heads for the patio doors that open to the backyard.

They walk a lap around the kidney-shaped pool in its pre-season state, talking about what they plan to do that summer. Eddie is looking forward to working at his uncle's garage. Apparently, he's got a project he's working on: a GMC truck he got for cheap that needs a bit of work.

"Figure as soon as it's done," he says, shyly, hopeful. "I can drive back and forth."

Steve's chest is tight. Eddie's been thinking about driving up to see him pretty far into the future.

"What about you?" Eddie asks before Steve can think about saying how great it would be to see Eddie more.

"Oh. I've got summer baseball."

The disappointment in Eddie's eyes is immediate and immense. Steve doesn't like it at all.

"But if you don't mind sitting in the stands …"

Steve trails off, hoping Eddie gets his meaning. He does; that million-dollar crooked smile comes right back.

"Cool."

They continue the tour of the house, ending purposefully in Steve's bedroom. Eddie hangs back in the doorway like it's a forbidden line he's not supposed to cross. Steve feels scared at first that Eddie's changed his mind again, after seeing all his mom's frou-frou paintings and his dad's gun cabinet. But it suddenly dawns on him that Eddie might just be waiting for an invitation.

"You can come in," Steve laughs. Eddie at his door, all tall, dark, and handsome? "My parents'll be home soon."

Eddie lets out a sigh of relief and slaps a hand to his chest, like he's some kind of hilarious comedian. Steve picks up a foam ball and hurls it at the boy's head.

"Hey!"

Eddie walks the room like he did the kitchen, like he did the pool, like he's at a museum or a shrine or something. Steve watches him touch the baseball trophies on the desk, lean over to peer out the window that looks over the pool, run his long fingers over the rumpled quilt at the end of the bed. Steve doesn't know what this pulsing, agonizing thing is inside him, but he's fighting pretty hard not to push Eddie down and climb into his lap.

Eddie gets close, really close, looking down the length of his nose and smirking. He's close enough for Steve to act on his urges, caught up in the depths of those warm, brown eyes. But there's a noise downstairs, and a door opening, and his mom's voice calling, "Steve?"

Steve swallows down his urges. "I'm upstairs," he shouts back. It cracks down the middle.

"Should I…?" Eddie begins, gesturing to the door. The hint of sweat and deodorant as he lifts his arm is a little bit intoxicating.

Steve shakes his head. "No. They're gonna have to get used to you being here, so …"

Footsteps sound on the stairs and Eddie holds Steve's gaze. He seems a little shocked, a little speechless. It's a lot like the look his mom gives the second she rounds the corner and catches a boy in Steve's room.

"Steve?" she asks again, frowning slightly. "Why did you leave the party?"

She's giving Eddie a complete once-over, twice. Steve has his excuse ready.

"Eddie Munson drove up to see me, so we got something to eat."

"Hi, Mrs. Harrington," Eddie says, turning on that same charm he used on the reporter. "Sorry, it was a last-minute thing. I wanted to wish him congratulations in person."

Steve's mom shakes Eddie's hand and seems to relax. "You're not from —"

"Here? No," Steve interrupts. "He's on the Devils' team, the one we lost to."

Recognition shines in his mother's eyes, and she pats Eddie's shoulder sympathetically, like he's the second-place winner.

"You boys played a good game. Why don't you come downstairs and meet my husband? He's been talking nonstop about you since yesterday."

And that right there stings a little. His dad paid attention to Eddie's game and hadn't said anything about Steve's. Not even an 'At least you tried.'

"OK!" Eddie responds eagerly, and Steve forces a smile. At least if his dad already thinks Eddie's a good guy, maybe they have a chance.

Maybe.

His mom turns and exits the room, and Eddie registers immediately that Steve isn't feeling the greatest about it.

"Hey," he whispers, brows dipping.

"It's OK," Steve says with a fake cheery smile. "Dad likes you sight unseen, apparently."

Eddie continues to frown as Steve passes him, then grabs his elbow as he does.

He pulls Steve in for a hug, nose in Steve's hair. And Steve does not feel like crying, he really doesn't.

"Come on. I'm not afraid of your dad. I'm the best bullshitter there is."

Steve smiles because he is afraid, and he follows Eddie.

Mr. Harrington is all smiles when they descend the stairs, Steve's mom having told him all about the celebrity that's in their son's bedroom. Eddie shmoozes and Steve's dad laps it up, claps Eddie on the back and talks so fast Steve feels sick to his stomach.

"You were incredible," he swoons, a little over the top. "Made every 3-pointer and all your free throws. Steve could learn a lot from you."

It's the first dig of many. Steve keeps his smile in place and looks vaguely over his father's shoulder. He tries to keep it together when Eddie throws an arm around Steve's neck and says, "This guy here is a heck of an athlete."

Steve's mom nods and his dad ignores it.

"You sure you don't want to play college ball? You've got the brains and the hands, and you're quick on your feet. Can handle the heat when they're pressing you."

Steve feels his father's gaze slide to him and back, because Steve can't handle the heat, apparently.

"I bet everyone in the state is knocking down your door to sign you up. You shouldn't be too hasty to turn them down."

Eddie just laughs and laughs and shakes his head. "Nah. I already enrolled in automotive college. Put a deposit down and everything."

He winks at Steve, who finds his socked feet a very interesting find.

"You boys hungry for dinner?" Steve's mom asks. "We were going to go out, but I can make something before —"

"Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. H, but we're stuffed." Eddie drawls, patting the flat of his stomach, cool and confident. "Steve and I were just gonna play video games. Maybe stay up late and watch a movie."

He elbows Steve and winks again.

"Oh. Well, how about popcorn later on?" his mom suggests, and Eddie nods enthusiastically.

"That sounds great."

He wraps one hand around the back of Steve's neck and gives him a shake. "We should get back to our game."

Steve blinks. "Yeah. Yeah, we should."

Steve's dad dismisses them with a wave. "All right. Go sit in front of a screen with your mindless finger tapping. That your van outside?"

"Yep," Eddie replies, tugging Steve back toward the stairs. "I'll be leaving tomorrow sometime. Hope you don't mind it parked there?"

But Steve's father has already turned away, headed for the kitchen and a beer or ten. "It's fine. Stay as long as you like. As long as it's moved by Monday morning when the garbage comes."

It's a mindless walk back to Steve's room. He's sorta numb, a little dazed. Everything happened so fast, he's not really sure if Eddie is for real or if Steve imagined the whole thing.

It takes a few seconds for it to sink in that Eddie has passed his parents' usual strict boundaries on people in his room. Robin has to stay downstairs when she comes over, heaven forbid they get up to something inappropriate. His mom offered to make popcorn, for chrissake. And he's pretty sure his dad said Eddie can stay until Monday.

Steve gets that reckless, unsettled swoop in his gut, like yesterday when Eddie found him outside the bus. That rebellious urge to piss his dad off with something completely stupid. He closes the bedroom door and pops the lock.

"Steve —" Eddie says, like he pities him, but he doesn't get to. Because Steve yanks him by the arm and pushes him on the bed, and then drops to his knees before his conscience has anything to say about it.

"Wha?"

"My dad doesn't think I can do shit," Steve says, breathless as he attacks Eddie's belt like it's offended him by hugging Eddie's hips all afternoon. "He's never gonna find out what a great cock sucker I am."

Eddie pushes up on his elbows and sucks in his gut. "Oh, hell yeah, Harrington."

Frazzled by frayed nerves and driven to insanity by the eyes Eddie keeps giving him, Steve shoves the boy's shirts up for faster access. He's about three seconds away from losing his shit, if he doesn't get to feel the vibration of Eddie's moans with his dick on the back of Steve's tongue.

Eddie breaks into that frenzy with a chuckle. "Here. Let me." He pushes Steve's hands away and finishes the job, leaning back, arching his pelvis up, and yanking down black pants and blue briefs all the way to his knees.

He settles back onto the bed with this stunned, awed look, and honestly, it's the most beautiful thing Steve has ever seen. Tanned thighs, mashed flat and large against the mattress and pinned by his discarded clothes. Sparse dark hairs that explode into the furred thatch of his crotch. A mouthwatering half-interested cock flushed red and shiny at the head, sagging curved to one indented, pale-skinned hip. It's gorgeous, twitching slightly as Steve stares at it. Wants it. Takes it.

"Fuck," Eddie growls as Steve gets his hand around the base and tests the spring of it. Pulls it away from Eddie's hot body and keeps it there. Leans against Eddie's knees to get closer, closer.

His mouth floods with saliva.

Steve realizes he's been mostly hard all day, which explains a lot of the coiled-up frustration in his belly. This only intensifies as Eddie rests a gentle hand atop Steve's head and whispers, "I'm gonna die when your pretty mouth touches my dick."

Horny as he is, Steve hasn't put much thought into how he's affecting Eddie, and he suddenly wants to make it good for him. He makes a show of licking his lips, inhaling the salty tang of scent that only boys have, and presses his lips to the smooth heat of Eddie's cock.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck," Eddie chants. His fingers curl in Steve's hair, holding him in place by the curve of his palm behind Steve's ear.

Steve closes his eyes and plays with the spongy tip, back and forth across his lips. Eddie groans and begins babbling about how soft Steve is, how pretty, how special. About his eyes and his hands and his god damned sinful mouth.

The forbidden aspect of this it was does it for Steve: an older boy he's just met, the way he's down on his knees in his bedroom, his parents downstairs. He pushes Eddie's cock past open lips and presses his tongue onto that little ridge that drives guys crazy. Closes his mouth around the crown and sucks on it like a hot, supple popsicle.

"Mm," he hums around the bitter goodness of it.

Eddie matches him with, "Oh my god, oh my god, I'm going to hell."

So is Steve. He mentally shrugs and inhales through his nose, then takes Eddie inside a little bit further.

Eddie gasps and clenches, the other hand gliding into Steve's hair, too. Steve's eyes roll back a little as he thinks about Eddie forcing him down, down, down onto his dick.

But Eddie is a gentleman. He resists. Steve can feel it. His stomach quivers as he strains, as he mutters incoherent things into the space between them.

Steve does not take Eddie deeper. He can already feel the warm ooze of fluid on his tongue, taste the bitter terribleness of it, loves it more than he can ever explain. He grips Eddie's knee with one hand and slips the other inside his khakis, pulling at and stroking himself blind.

With little side-to-side movements of his head, Steve works his way to a comfortable fullness, then sucks in even harder. Eddie's breathing picks up until he's gasping and blowing into the top of Steve's head.

"Oh, that's — that's — Oh my god, Steve. Where has your mouth been all my life?"

Steve smiles and tips his head back, pulls out so Eddie's dick drags on the flat of his tongue.

He pops off for a moment to catch his breath, to suck in the saliva that drips from his bottom lip. To blink back the verge of tears as he imagines gagging on Eddie's cock. To look up and find brown eyes that devour him without even trying.

Steve whines a little as Eddie's thumb brushes across his lips, then takes their combined fluids into his own mouth and fucking moans.

This rushes Steve right to the edge, and he squeezes the base of his own cock so he doesn't come too soon.

"Oh, Baby," Eddie rumbles as his gaze drops to Steve's hand. "You touching yourself there?"

Steve almost shoots at the wrecked sound of Eddie's voice. He nods.

Eddie's mouth falls open like he's been punched. "Oh. Fucking christ. I gotta — can I come in your mouth?"

Steve rolls his head back and moans, too. "God, yes."

Permission given, Eddie moves quickly. He takes himself in hand and feeds his cock between Steve's lips. The pressure at the back of Steve's skull increases, and he swallows and swallows and swallows. Eddie jerks his hips experimentally, and Steve jacks himself hard.

He comes just as Eddie hits the back of his throat, as he gags, as he whites out, as he coughs. He wills his stomach's contents to stay put and sucks in a breath through his nose. And Eddie starts fucking his mouth like a dream.

It only takes a dozen or so thrusts before Eddie is crying out and pulsing onto the back of Steve's tongue. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on the throbbing of his own erection. He is not going to mess this up.

He does. He gags so hard he heaves. Eddie pulls back, gasping as Steve spits the awful, nasty glop of semen onto the bed. He feels instantly ashamed.

His throat hurts, and his lips are trembling as he purges the rest of Eddie's spunk onto the blanket. Eddie sits up and holds Steve's face as Steve chokes and gasps and embarrasses himself.

"Oh, Baby," Eddie hisses, sounding like he's marveling at the sight of Steve's weak gag reflex. "Damn, that's so fucking sexy. You choking on my cock like that."

Confused, Steve raises his head, and he knows he's crying and he hates it. But Eddie gazes down at him like he hung the moon. And Eddie wipes the back of his hand across Steve's chin.

"Did you come?" he asks.

"Yeah," Steve says. The word burns the back of his throat.

"Fuck. You're incredible."

Eddie slides his black shirt over his head and uses it to clean Steve's face. Then Steve's hands. Then his own crotch and thighs. He stands and squeezes himself back into underwear and pants, then hauls Steve up under the armpits for a slow and dirty kiss.

Steve's cheeks are hot with the fact that he's such a cock slut but can't handle the jizz. But Eddie doesn't seem to mind at all. He's actually strangely turned on by the explosive way Steve spits.

"Sorry —" Steve starts, but Eddie shakes his shoulders.

"No. No. No. Not sorry, you got it?"

It's beginning to look like Eddie likes Steve in spite of — or because of — his deficiencies.

"OK."

Eddie kisses him again.

"Shit, I'm the one who's sorry," Eddie groans as he wrenches his mouth away and takes a step backward, still keeping both hands firm on Steve's shoulders. "Your dad really is a dick. I'm sorry."

The last thing Steve wants to think about after a mind-blowing orgasm is his father. "Meh. I'm used to it."

"Well, I'm not. I hope you don't believe anything he said. You're just as good as I am at basketball and probably loads better at baseball. I can't even hit out of the infield."

Eddie kisses him gentle. "And damn, can you suck a dick!"

It appears they agree again.

"So, video games?" Eddie asks as he sinks onto the unmade, defiled and destroyed bed. He pulls Steve to sit next to him, Eddie's thigh practically flattening his own.

Steve pauses to listen and can hear voices low from downstairs. They should have turned the TV on at least.

"Yeah. What do you wanna play?"